And the meaning of writing
A bit of a ramble... I struggle sometimes with ‘journaling for self’ during troubled times finding I slip into the life writing I do for articles. I am conscious of a reader’s gaze - and yet the reader would only be me. Although in reality I tend to destroy these therapeutic meanderings. I know I am a contradiction in that I can share deeply personal experiences and yet I am ferociously private about aspects of my inner self. Because of this I do not work hard to imbue my personal journaling with any semblance of craft - it is a utility - so I am left with life writing that I know lacks something. How to get past that... do I need to? These days I am writing more fiction - to escape, explore or not? I don’t know - but I am envious of those who are able to show an innocent honesty in their writing about self.
This-- "constellation of intangibles"-- Absolutely beautiful. Every post I read of yours, I am struck by your profound, clear insights married to masterful prose. If my printer hadn't died, I would print this one out as it hummed in the very marrow of my bones.
I write letters to a friend very regularly. Unheard of in this day and age, to someone in the same country who would bother to write back, stick on a stamp and post a letter back to me. This back and forth motion of putting my thoughts in writing, on pen and paper, sending it off, waiting for a response, has been a cathartic experience for me.
Once again, your writing resonates with me.
I enjoyed this ... not least because it’s fascinating to me that people can pursue the same action (in this case writing) yet infuse it with such different meaning.
I love this. Thank you.
This very much resonates! Thank you for expressing what makes writing such a pull/need/joy.